


Those Jeans.

by cyrusbarrone



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Desolation Row, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyrusbarrone/pseuds/cyrusbarrone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's wearing those jeans again, the ones with the hole- no, the fucking huge rip- at the crotch. The one's that show off his boxers, well would, if he weren't wearing tights. So many layers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Jeans.

The video was one of our best, this was for many reasons but one of the main one’s was Gerard’s attire. The bastard was thrilled at getting to wear something ‘punky’ for the whole thing, and had to fucking pick those jeans, the ones with the hole at the crotch. It’s not just a normal, tiny hole that nobody can notice, no, it’s a gaping rip that you can’t cover with just one hand. It would also show his boxers if he wasn’t wearing those damn striped tights underneath, and god, those fucking tights. Just more layers to get rid of.

We’d all dressed up, yeah, but not like that. Not showing off like that, not gorgeous and fuckable like that. I found myself wishing that this would be our new look, punk, with torn jeans showing off too much thigh and not enough crotch. That would be good, better than good, awesome. 

So the video was done, and it would be edited over the next couple of weeks, then we’d get to see it, and I’d get to wank off in my bunk that night with perfect porn. The film itself would be out before the video went viral, so, really, we would be the first ones to see it and we could tease the fans about how there was a new video looming somewhere over the horizon. They’d get as riled up as me.

We’d gotten our own dressing room for this video, which was pretty awesome, not the dressing room thing, but the fact that this was an actual film set and we had a dressing room. It was cool, important, I guess. There was also the fact that the dressing room had a lock on the door, which meant privacy, which meant I could get Gerard out of those damn jeans. 

-

You’d be surprised how long it took me to get to the dressing room/trailer thing, and so would I. it’s not like it was particularly far from where we’d been filming, but it seemed that everyone wanted to talk about the video, or how much they were looking forward to seeing Watchmen when it came out, or just wanting to talk about the band. Everyone wanted to talk, except for me. Which sadly meant that Gerard was talking animatedly to Mikey about comics and fucking anything.

I don’t tell anyone where I’m going when I slip off to the trailer, because I don’t want people following me in there, for obvious reasons. The dressing room/trailer is practically empty. It had a couple of rails of clothes which are spares in case anything drastic happened to our outfits, then there’s a mirror stretched across one wall with a little table in front of it littered with eyeliner pencils and brushes with pale purples and greens on. There’s a sofa on the wall opposite the clothing rails, it looks deflated and over used, but comfortable enough. There’s a window by the door and one opposite the mirrors but nothing that would expose what’s happening inside the trailer.

I flop onto the sofa, pluck my phone from where its sat on the arm and type out a text to Gerard—‘i’m trapped in our trailer :s can you come and get me out?’ it’s shit but then it’ll get him to come pretty soon and then my plan can be put into action.

I wait.

-

When Gerard appears in the trailer, he’s laughing and calling me an idiot because the door wasn’t jammed at all and I could have just gotten out of the window if it was. I’d forgotten how much Gerard talks when he finds something funny, and I’m impatient already.

“It got you here, though, didn’t it?” I grin at him, feral, predator-like. I push myself from the sofa and stride over to where he’s next to the door, my boots hit loud against the floor pulsing out loud beats that seemed almost too loud in this atmosphere. I leant around him and slide the bolt lock across the door, it makes a clicking sound and it makes this more real. 

Gerard steps back against the door and I get to look at him properly for the first time. His hair is a fucking mess, dry looking and hanging around his face in a dark frame; his face is painted with false bruises, purple and green under his left eye, all it does is accentuate his eyes even more, making the hazel-green shine. There’s a piece of tape over his eyebrow, pulling a non-existent cut together from a fake fight. His face is painted a sickly colour and it reminds me of when he was a drunk, and I briefly feel ill because I don’t want to remember that. I look down instead, looking at how the leather jacket he’s wearing is busted up, dulling into a grey-brown in some pieces, and only holding together from thick lines of duct-tape and little rows of un-even staples. His shirt is bright red and ripped across his belly button, where dark hair swirls and leads down, like I needed anymore encouragement. Then there are those jeans, and the more I look at them, the more obscene they seem and they need to be gone.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” I marvelled, tilting my head so slightly to the side. I stepped closer to him, surrounding all of him, backing him into the door and bracket my hands on his hips, and then I kiss him, too hard and too rough, and just what I’ve been wanting to do since I saw him put those jeans on, and he kisses back, just as hard, just as much teeth and spit as I am, and it feels so hot and warm coming from him. His hands steady around my neck and push into the short layers at the back. He pushed my head, bringing me closer, fastening the pace of our mouths licking and sharing obscene sounds.

My own jeans feel more and more uncomfortable the more we kiss, and the more Gerard twitches his hips and grinds his crotch up against the crease of where my thigh meets my torso. I’m hard but I’ve been fighting it all day. 

Gerard pulls back from the kiss, and spit strings our lips together. He looks obscene, like he’s just been dragged from a porn-video and not a music video. His lips are darkened and rubbed red, his hair his rubbed up at the back from where his head’s been moving against the back of the door. “There’s too many-“he pauses as his hips twitch and a moan stutters out from his mouth, loud and perfect-“clothes.”

God, I fucking agree. Somehow we get to the couch, it’s awkward because one of my hands is stuffed down the back of his jeans and he keeps trying to kiss me, and obviously I can’t not kiss back when he’s being so needy. He falls back on the couch though, and it lets out a whoof of weak protest, but all it is background noise that’s too easily annoyed. His jacket has fallen off somewhere along the line, and his shirt is hitched up and tucked around his armpits and his jeans are falling off one hip, he’s fucking gorgeous. The sound I make at the sight of him is embarrassing, but it doesn’t matter, it’s lost to the background.

“Stop staring,” Gerard’s huffing, pulling harshly at his own belt and wriggling his hips to try and remove the leather from his belt loops. I stumble forwards and push onto his thighs, straddling around them, and grinding myself lazily on him as I tug off my own belt. We’re obviously not going for traditional, no matter how much I wanna taste all of Gerard’s skin, we don’t have time to be gentle, or get fully naked, and that’s totally fine. Gerard let’s out this pitiful whine, “help me with my jeans.”

So I do. I push myself down so I’m lying between his spread legs, and tug down the dark denim past his knees, but leave them bunched up against his military boots, which I shuck off, too, eventually. I go to kiss the pale skin on the underneath of his knee, but there are stripes there instead, and the last I knew, was that Gerard did not have stripy legs. “Why so many fucking layers?” I complain, but tug the tights down too, slowly revealing pale white skin dusted with dark hair, he’s not wearing underwear, which is even better.

Gerard lets out a whine as soon as his cock is free, its curved up against his stomach, heavy and a deep red, and fucking gorgeous. “Fuck- Frank, fuck’s sake—get your jeans off!” he near shouts at me, skirting his hands over his stomach and chest, feeling over his nipples. I almost get trapped staring, but then I seem to remember, hey, cock needs to be out for sex. I kick off my boots and struggle out of my jeans (they’re not even tight, everything’s just difficult when you’re too turned on to see) and tug my boxers down, but leave them at my knees. My cock feels as heavy as Gerard’s looks, and curves wetly up against my stomach, wetting at my shirt.

I push my crotch against his hip and we’re humping thighs for too long, so long that Gerard is left whining and just begging me   
to do something. I press his thighs apart and settle myself between them, they feel thick as they press around my back and push my closer to the curve of his cock, and I roll my eyes, scolding him in a voice that sounds pathetic and hoarse. 

I blow him, press my tongue flat against the head of his cock, and marvel at the feel of his head pressing against the back of my throat (he makes this delicious whining sound, tugs at my hair and pants ‘fucking hell, Frankie’) as I swallow around him and press my fingers into the dark-coarse patch of pubic hair that sits near my nose. He smells musty, sweaty and of Gerard, and it’s fucking intoxicating, it pushes my hips into frenzy against the sticky cushion of the couch. He comes down my throat, his dick expanding in my mouth, it leaves a sour-salty taste in my mouth, and I kiss it away into Gerard’s mouth as he flips us around and jacks me off tightly, his thumb pressed over the head.

I come onto his shirt and some catches onto his cheek, he looks dirty and fucking gorgeous. I leant up and licked it from his cheek before just letting him collapse his whole body onto me, huffing his face into my chest. I rub my hands over his back. “Never wear those fucking jeans again,” I huffed.

He just laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for a prompt on everythingsfrerardandnothinghurts.tumblr.com. This is really shitty sex so I'm sorry, i've never really written it before, but I wanted to becaue Desolation Row is a gorgeous video.


End file.
